Poetry Corner

[Siggie]

Re: Poetry Corner

I was thinking "Hmm... Pepsi's poetry has improved!" then I reached the last line...

by Ellen Bailey

[MrHyeSev]

Re: Poetry Corner

I Pray 2 Jesus

Jesus is the one I pray to
Just what can this man, Jesus, do?
He can move mountains with a wave of His hand
He can part the seas and lay bare the land

He can open the gates of Hell
He can do anything but fail
He can forgive us of our sins
He can make us feel whole again

He can turn storm clouds into a sky of blue
He can dispel the gloom when we are blue
He can bring joy and happiness and mirth
He can do great miracles upon this earth

He can rid our lives of needless strife
He can give to each of us eternal life
He can take us through death's door
Jesus is the one I adore

by Ellen Bailey

[freakyfreaky]

Re: Poetry Corner

Line-up for Yesterday

A is for Alex
The great Alexander;
More Goose eggs he pitched
Than a popular gander.

B is for Bresnahan
Back of the plate;
The Cubs were his love,
and McGraw his hate.

C is for Cobb,
Who grew spikes and not corn,
And made all the basemen
Wish they weren't born.

D is for Dean,
The grammatical Diz,
When they asked, Who's the tops?
Said correctly, I is.

E is for Evers,
His jaw in advance;
Never afraid
To Tinker with Chance.

F is for Fordham
And Frankie and Frisch;
I wish he were back
With the Giants, I wish.

G is for Gehrig,
The Pride of the Stadium;
His record pure gold,
His courage, pure radium.

H is for Hornsby;
When pitching to Rog,
The pitcher would pitch,
Then the pitcher would dodge.

I is for Me,
Not a hard-hitting man,
But an outstanding all-time
Incurable fan.

J is for Johnson
The Big Train in his prime
Was so fast he could throw
Three strikes at a time.

K is for Keeler,
As fresh as green paint,
The fastest and mostest
To hit where they ain't.

L is for Lajoie
Whom Clevelanders love,
Napolean himself,
With glue in his glove.

M is for Matty,
Who carried a charm
In the form of an extra
brain in his arm.

N is for Newsom,
Bobo's favorite kin.
You ask how he's here,
He talked himself in.

O is for Ott
Of the restless right foot.
When he leaned on the pellet,
The pellet stayed put.

P is for Plank,
The arm of the A's;
When he tangled with Matty
Games lasted for days.

Q is for Don Quixote
Cornelius Mack;
Neither Yankees nor years
Can halt his attack.

R is for Ruth.
To tell you the truth,
There's just no more to be said,
Just R is for Ruth.

S is for Speaker,
Swift center-field tender,
When the ball saw him coming,
It yelled, "I surrender."

T is for Terry
The Giant from Memphis
Whose .400 average
You can't overemphis.

U would be 'Ubell
if Carl were a xxxxney;
We say Hubbell and Baseball
Like Football and Rockne.

V is for Vance
The Dodger's very own Dazzy;
None of his rivals
Could throw as fast as he.

W is for Wagner,
The bowlegged beauty;
Short was closed to all traffic
With Honus on duty.

X is the first
of two x's in Foxx
Who was right behind Ruth
with his powerful soxx.

Y is for Young
The magnificent Cy;
People battled against him,
But I never knew why.

Z is for Zenith
The summit of fame.
These men are up there.
These men are the game.

-- Ogden Nash

The First Green Leaves

Scarce are the clouds' black shadows
Pierced by a gleam of light,
Scarce have our fields grown dark again,
Freed from the snow-drifts white,
When you, with smiles all twinkling,
Bud forth o'er hill and vale.
O first-born leaves of spring-time,
Hail to your beauty, hail!

Not yet to our cold meadows
Had come Spring's guest, the swallow,
Not yet the nightingale's sweet voice
Had echoed from the hollow,
When you, like joy's bright angels,
Came swift to hill and dale.
Fresh-budded leaves of spring-time,
Hail to your beauty, hail!

Your tender verdant colour,
Thin stems and graceful guise,
How sweetly do they quench the thirst
Of eager, longing eyes!
Afflicted souls at sight of you
Take comfort and grow gay.
New-budded leaves of spring-time,
All hail to you to-day!

Come, in the dark breast of our dales
To shine, the hills between!
Come, o'er our bare and shivering trees
To cast a veil of green!
Come, to give sad-faced nature
An aspect blithe and new!
O earliest leaves of spring-time,
All hail, all hail to you!

Come to call up, for new-born Spring,
A dawn of roses fair!
Come, and invite the breezes light
To play with your soft hair!
Say to the fragrant blossoms,
'Oh, haste! men long for you!'
Hail, earliest leaves of spring-time,
Young leaves so fresh and new!

Come, come O leaves, and with sweet wings
Of hope from yonder sky
Cover the sad earth of the graves
Wherein our dear ones lie!
Weave o'er the bones so dear to us
A garland wet with dew,
Ye wings of hope's bright angels,
Young leaves so fresh and new!

-- Archbishop Khoren Nar Bey de Lusignan

I'm An Armenian

I'm an Armenian, as old as Ararat;
My shoes were wetted by the waters of the Flood.
Beside these shining peaks where Noah sat
My sword once drew the dread Bel's* evil blood.
These boulders overgrown with moss since time
Beyond remembrance, my hand hewed to lie
In the foundation of an ancient shrine
Which my own blood I shed to sanctify.
One morning here, in Ararat's green valley
My hammer and my pick aside I flung
And lit a fire on the Chaldean altar.
Those days both Ararat and I were young.
Then crimson every valley-flower was dyed;
All we had sown in it through ages past
Grew on the blood of countrymen who died.
Beneath each hillock killed Armenians rest.
With trusty shield I met attacking hordes,
Suffering countless wounds from countless swords.
I'm an Armenian, as old as Ararat.
High as the hills I bear my head. My story's sad:
Each century that passed brought grief to me.
My sons throughout the whole wide world were scattered;
With bloody showers Ararat was spattered.
My ploughlands crops of misery would yield.
I lived and breathed among my burned-out fields
On wasteland rubble, ashes steeped in gore.
But now, with my own blood revived once more,
Again the holy altar-lights burn bright,
Warming my heart and gladdening my sight.
New ploughshares out of rusted swords I forged;
Our fathers' heritage to my children I gave back.
Our sorrow fills my verse with hot blood gorged.
A twentieth century Gregory Narek**
I'm an Armenian, as old as Ararat.
Beneath my sorrows Ararat itself would bow.
Any ill-omened, blood-thirsty Attila that
Arose in history, would deal me his first blow.
Inured to massacres, I lived in thrall for ages.
An orphan, in the fight for life I'm steeled.
My thousand-year-old grain, preserved by hearts courageous,
Sown in new times, sprouts in my virgin fields.
Blessed be my roots, whose strength is marvelled at!
A homeless outcast once, a motherland have I.
I'm an Armenian, as old as Ararat.
I hold my head as high as eagles fly.

-- Gevorg Emin

* Bel - villain who opposed Ike, legendary ancestor of all Armenians.
** Narek (Narekatsi), Grigor (951-1003) - great Armenian poet of Early Renaissance.

[Tali]

Re: Poetry Corner

nice!! i really liked the first one

[freakyfreaky]

Re: Poetry Corner

Good-By Now or Pardon My Gauntlet

Bring down the moon for genteel Janet;
She's too refined for this gross planet.
She wears garments and you wear clothes,
You buy stockings, she purchases hose.
She say That is correct, and you say Yes,
And she disrobes and you undress.
Confronted by a mouse or moose,
You turn green, she turns chartroose.
Her speech is new-minted, freshly quarried;
She has a fore-head, you have a forehead.
Nor snake nor slowworm draweth nigh her;
You go to bed, she doth retire.
To Janet, births are blessed events,
And odors that you smell she scents.
Replete she feels, when her food is yummy,
Not in the stomach but the tummy.
If urged some novel step to show,
You say Like this, she says Like so.
Her dear ones don't die, but pass away;
Beneath her formal is lonjeray.
Of refinement she's a fount, or fountess,
And that is why she's now a countess.
She was asking for the little girls' room
And a flunky though she said the earl's room.

-- Ogden Nash

The Cantaloupe

One cantaloupe is ripe and lush,
Another's green, another's mush.
I'd buy a lot more cantaloupe
If I possessed a fluoroscope.

The Praying Mantis

From whence arrived the praying mantis?
From outer space, or lost Atlantis?
glimpse the grin, green metal mug
at masks the pseudo-saintly bug,
Orthopterous, also carnivorous,
And faintly whisper, Lord deliver us.

-- Ogden Nash

[Tali]

Re: Poetry Corner

If you were so steely inside,
how is it your eyes thus shine
with the luster of youth so radiant,
igniting the fire of your soul?

Could it be you simply do not know
of the future you've yet to behold,
that one day you may just see
someone lucky who'll set you free?

I look forward to the day
that you call me just to say
"Today was my best yet in awhile!"
And then I'll see you smile



* by me! *

[freakyfreaky]

Re: Poetry Corner

The Journey

The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs;
and the flowers were all merry by the roadside;
and the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds
while we busily went on our way and paid no heed.

We sang no glad songs nor played;
we went not to the village for barter;
we spoke not a word nor smiled;
we lingered not on the way.
We quickened our pace more and more as the time sped by.

The sun rose to the mid sky and doves cooed in the shade.
Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of noon.
The shepherd boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of the banyan tree,
and I laid myself down by the water
and stretched my tired limbs on the grass.

My companions laughed at me in scorn;
they held their heads high and hurried on;
they never looked back nor rested;
they vanished in the distant blue haze.

They crossed many meadows and hills,
and passed through strange, far-away countries.
All honor to you, heroic host of the interminable path!
Mockery and reproach pricked me to rise,
but found no response in me.

I gave myself up for lost
in the depth of a glad humiliation
---in the shadow of a dim delight.

The repose of the sun-embroidered green gloom
slowly spread over my heart.
I forgot for what I had traveled,
and I surrendered my mind without struggle
to the maze of shadows and songs.

At last, when I woke from my slumber and opened my eyes,
I saw thee standing by me, flooding my sleep with thy smile.
How I had feared that the path was long and wearisome,
and the struggle to reach thee was hard!

-- Rabindranath Tagore

The Gardener LXXXIV: Over the Green

Over the green and yellow rice-fields
sweep the shadows of the autumn
clouds followed by the swift-chasing
sun.
The bees forget to sip their honey;
drunken with light they foolishly hover
and hum.
The ducks in the islands of the river
clamour in joy for mere nothing.
Let none go back home, brothers,
this morning, let none go to work.
Let us take the blue sky by storm
and plunder space as we run.
Laughter floats in the air like foam
on the flood.
Brothers, let us squander our
morning in futile songs.

-- Rabindranath Tagore

[Jinx]

Re: Poetry Corner

Easily one of my favorite poems of all time.

Philip Larkin - Church Going

Once I am sure there's nothing going on
I step inside, letting the door thud shut.
Another church: matting, seats, and stone,
And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut
For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff
Up at the holy end; the small neat organ;
And a tense, musty, unignorable silence,
Brewed God knows how long. Hatless, I take off
My cycle-clips in awkward reverence.

Move forward, run my hand around the font.
From where I stand, the roof looks almost new -
Cleaned, or restored? Someone would know: I don't.
Mounting the lectern, I peruse a few
Hectoring large-scale verses, and pronounce
'Here endeth' much more loudly than I'd meant.
The echoes snigger briefly. Back at the door
I sign the book, donate an Irish sixpence,
Reflect the place was not worth stopping for.

Yet stop I did: in fact I often do,
And always end much at a loss like this,
Wondering what to look for; wondering, too,
When churches will fall completely out of use
What we shall turn them into, if we shall keep
A few cathedrals chronically on show,
Their parchment, plate and pyx in locked cases,
And let the rest rent-free to rain and sheep.
Shall we avoid them as unlucky places?

Or, after dark, will dubious women come
To make their children touch a particular stone;
Pick simples for a cancer; or on some
Advised night see walking a dead one?
Power of some sort will go on
In games, in riddles, seemingly at random;
But superstition, like belief, must die,
And what remains when disbelief has gone?
Grass, weedy pavement, brambles, buttress, sky,

A shape less recognisable each week,
A purpose more obscure. I wonder who
Will be the last, the very last, to seek
This place for what it was; one of the crew
That tap and jot and know what rood-lofts were?
Some ruin-bibber, randy for antique,
Or Christmas-addict, counting on a whiff
Of gown-and-bands and organ-pipes and myrrh?
Or will he be my representative,

Bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt
Dispersed, yet tending to this cross of ground
Through suburb scrub because it held unspilt
So long and equably what since is found
Only in separation - marriage, and birth,
And death, and thoughts of these - for which was built
This special shell? For, though I've no idea
What this accoutred frowsty barn is worth,
It pleases me to stand in silence here;

A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognized, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.

[MrHyeSev]

Re: Poetry Corner

Morning Song

O Day-spring, Sun of righteousness, shine forth with light for me!
Treasure of mercy, let my soul thy hidden riches see!

Thou before whom the thoughts of men lie open in thy sight,
Unto my soul, now dark and dim, grant thoughts that shine with light!

O Father, Son and Holy Ghost, Almighty One in Three,
Care-taker of all creatures, have pity upon me!

Awake O Lord, awake to help, with grace and power divine;
Awaken those who slumber now, like heaven's host to shine!

O Lord and Saviour, life-giver, unto the dead give life,
And raise up those that have grown weak and stumbled in the strife!

O skilful Pilot! Lamp of light, that burnest bright and clear!
Strength and assurance grant to me, now hid away in fear!

O thou that makest old things new, renew me and adorn;
Rejoice me with salvation, Lord, for which I inly mourn.

Giver of good, unto my sins be thy forgiveness given!
Lead thy disciples, heavenly King, unto the flocks of heaven!

Defeat the evil husbandman that soweth tares and weeds;
Wither and kill in me the fruits of all his evil seeds!

O Lord, grant water to my eyes, that they may shed warm tears
To cleanse and wash away the sin that in my soul appears!

On me now hid in shadow deep, shine forth, O glory bright!
Sweet juice, quench thou my soul's keen thirst! Show me the path of light!

Jesus, whose name is love, with love crush thou my stony heart;
Bedew my spirit with thy blood, and bid my griefs depart!

O thou that even in fancy art so sweet, Lord Jesus Christ,
Grant that with thy reality my soul may be sufficed!

When thou shalt come again on earth, and all thy glory see,
Upon that dread and awful day, O Christ, remember me!

Thou that redeemest men from sin, O Saviour, I implore,
Redeem him who now praises thee, to praise thee evermore!
-St. Nerses the Gracious (1102-1172)

[Tali]

Re: Poetry Corner

A CUTE POEM FOR A CUTE GIRL

Author: Anonimous

You changed my world with a blink of an eye
That is something that I can not deny
You put my soul from worst to best
That is why I treasure you my dearest Marites

You just don't know what you have done for me
You even pushed me to the best that I can be
You really are an angel sent from above
To take care of me and shower with love

When I'm with you I will not cry even a single a tear
And your touch have chased away all of my fear
You have given me a life that I could live worthwhile
It is even better everytime you smile

It so magical those things you've made
To bring back my faith that almost fade
Now my life is a dream come true
It all began when I was loved by you

Now I have found what I am looking for
It's you and your love and nothing more
Co'z you have given me this feeling of contentment
In my life something I've never felt

I wish I could talk 'til the end of day
But now I'm running out of things to say
So I'll end by the line you already know
"I LOVE YOU" more than what I could show